Kenny and Peter - Book 1 - 6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living, dead, space aliens, goats, or others are purely coincidental. There may be sexual content so if this, in any form, offends you, please cease reading. Also, if you are not of legal age to read this, please don't.

Copyright © 2008 by hh5

Kenny and Peter

By HH5

Chapter 06

Kenny

I’d gotten home about 3:00 AM, and stumbled into the living room. The only light came from a streetlight shining through the curtains. I had forgotten what rooms Peter and my mother were sleeping in, so I decided to sleep in the living room. I didn’t want to disturb them. I pulled out the hide-a-bed mattress from the couch, stripped to my shorts, and fell asleep. When I woke up the next morning, I saw Peter asleep beside me. He must have heard me come in, and crawled into bed with me. And what amazes me that both of us were covered with a blanket. I was so tired, I didn’t even know. I smiled and figured that mom must have covered the both of us during the cold night to keep us warm.

I heard the rustling of pots and pans in the kitchen, and knew mom was awake. I pulled on my scrubs, and went into the kitchen to greet the morning with her. She’d made coffee. We sat at the table and had a cup. I wasn’t comfortable. There was a lot of self-doubt boiling inside of me; it was hotter than my cup of coffee.

I asked, “Mom, do you really think I’m ready to take care of him. I’m not really sure this was all a good idea or not.” Mom walked around the table, and hugged me.

She whispered into my ear,“He needs you, dear and he loves you…isn’t that enough? You’ll work it out; you always do.” I nodded, silently thanking her for her encouragement and support.

I whispered back, “But, Mom, I’m still in love with Gary…”

She stood up straight, like I remember from childhood. She looked me in the eye, “Kenny, Gary has already chosen a new path in life. It’s a path you cannot follow. You have chosen your own path, one that Gary cannot follow—even if he wanted to.” She hugged me again and whispered, “Peter coming into your life is the best thing for you, now. Have some faith dear. Have some faith.” She stood behind me, and held me in her motherly embrace. I stood, and hugged her. She let me cry on her shoulder until I couldn’t cry any more.

When I had stopped crying, she gave me a quick hug. “Kenny, I’ve got to go, now. You’ll be fine.” She smiled, and went back to my room to get ready to leave. I poured another cup of coffee, and pondered what she had said.

She came out of my room, dressed for travel and carrying her purse and small suitcase. I gave her a last hug and kiss. She returned them, and then gave me a list. I looked at it, smiled, and then said, “Thanks mom, this will help a lot. I’m sure of it.”

I thanked her for coming on such short notice. She told me she was glad she had come, and that she was happy for me. She told me that she’d be at Robbie’s house while his wife was off on a business trip. I watched her drive away.

I went back to the kitchen poured myself another cup of coffee. I sat at the table, thinking about what had happened the past few days. Mom had turned on the radio, and it was still playing softly. I listened to the song. It was theme song from Mahogany; the singer was by Diana Ross: Do you know where you're going to? Do you like the things that life is showing you? Where are you going to? Do you know?

That song seemed to wrap up my life in its lyrics. I watched images of my life flowing past me as the song played. By the time the song ended, I was angry. I hated the song. I hated it because…because I don’t know where I’m going. I just don’t! Everything was fine until Gary closed the f**king door in my face, before he closed the door on my life! I was about to slam my fist into the table or the wall when Peter touched my arm.

I hadn’t heard him come into the kitchen; I was so wrapped up on my own problems and my own misery. I barely heard his, “Good morning, daddy.” I yelled in surprise and lashed out, knocking him to the floor. I thank God I didn’t have the hot coffee in that hand. I saw the boy on the floor, crying. His face was a mask of surprise…and fear. I picked him up from the floor and cradled him in my arms, rocking him back and forth as I sang one of the songs that my brother had sung to me. It worked. Peter stopped crying.

I didn’t know then that I was holding onto the answer to all of my problems, all of my self-doubts. All I knew, then, was that he needed me, and I needed him. I was so happy when Peter smiled at me. “I’m sorry, Peter,” I said. “I was surprised. Are you okay, now?” He smiled and nodded. I told him to get ready for breakfast. He went back to his room; I started preparing breakfast.

We finished breakfast just in time for Mrs. Darwin’s visit. She told us that Peter’s mother was happy he had a good place to live, but that his father wasn’t at all happy with the arrangements. Mrs. Darwin made it clear, however, that we weren’t to worry about anything. I was glad that Mrs. Darwin was taking care of that part of things; I didn’t need any complications. My plate was full. Who am I kidding? My life was full.

After Mrs. Darwin left, I asked Peter to join me on the couch for a talk, “Peter,” I said, “Mrs. Darwin is letting me take care of you for a time. I don’t know how long a time; but it will be as long as you need it. Now, while you live with me, you will be going to school, coming home from school, and doing your homework. I will be taking care of you. I’ll be feeding you, making sure you have clothes, things like that. But, I will also be making sure that you behaves, and that you do all your homework. Do you understand that Peter?”

Peter wasn’t entirely happy about going to school. He said that he was afraid to go to school, because he’s afraid he will be picked on—even beaten up—just like he was in his old school. I hugged him, and rubbed his back and hair, trying to calm him down and ease his fears.

“Peter,” I said, “I want you to understand that you can come to me anytime and talk about anything. Anything means just that: if you’re sad or happy, mad, lonely, confused, or just want to talk—or, if you want a hug or to be loved, I’ll be here for you. This may be different from what you’re use to. But, I want you to be happy about yourself, and I want you to feel safe. I want you to know I care about you. I want you to know that no matter what, I will never hit you nor hurt you.”

“Thank you, Kenny,” Peter said, and reached out for me. I hugged him. He hugged me. We both cried a bit. I was very happy. I was happy that Peter trusted me, and I was happy that I had something besides myself and my life to…to what? To create meaning? Yes, that was it, something besides me to make my life meaningful.

I glanced at my watch. It was after 11:00 o’clock. It had been an emotional morning, and I figured we needed something different. “Peter,” I said, “I think we need to get out of the house and have a little fun. What do you say?” He grinned, and giggled. He clapped his hands. I almost asked the question, again, just to see his pleasure!

He didn’t have a warm coat, so I gave him one of my jackets. It was way too big for him; it swallowed him! I grinned at the sight, and then thought, one day, he will fill out my coat, he will grow up. What will he look like then? What does the future hold for him? For me? I put those thoughts aside, and drove Peter to the mall. He stared out the car window, looking at all the places we passed as if he’d never seen them before. And then I realized, Perhaps he hasn’t. He’s hardly been anywhere, before. All this must be exciting and new to him.

We got to the mall at noon…just in time for lunch. There was a McDonalds in the food court. I led him there, and ordered a Number 5 for me and a Happy Meal for him. Peter looked wistfully at his food. It was almost nostalgic, I thought. “Is there something wrong?” I asked.

Peter shook his head, “no.”

“What’s the matter, then?”

“The French fries…the French fries reminded me of my brother Benny. He fed me the first French fries I ever had…the only French fries I ever had…when McDonalds opened up in our neighborhood.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. So I tried to lighten things up. I grinned, and teased him. “Well, you’d better eat your lunch before I eat all your French fries.” I took a few of his French fries and then we attacked each other French fries until the both of us were laughing uncontrollably.

“Hey you ate all my French fries!” I said. “Next time … no Happy Meals for you!” Peter played along, and pouted. “But I love the toys!!” he said. I laughed. I don’t know how long it’s been since I really laughed.

Peter stopped laughing. I looked, and saw what he’d seen. There was a little kid at another table. The boy looked unhappy. He also looked poor, like Peter. Peter looked at me. I nodded, and he went to the other table, and said hello to the boy. The boy smiled. Peter and the boy talked for a while. I finished my lunch, and watched them. They seemed to connect. They played with the toys from Peter’s Happy Meal. Peter came back to our table, but he left his toys for the other kid. “That was nice of you, Peter,” I said. “I am very proud of you. Won’t you miss your toys, though?”

Peter answered, “Its okay. He’s littler than me. His mama said that he didn’t want to eat. I told him if he’d eat all his food—and eat whenever his mama feeds him, I’d give you my toys. He did, so I gave him my toys.” Peter paused, and it seemed that he was thinking. Then he continued, “Benny did the same thing for me but it didn’t work too well. I wouldn’t eat, and I never got his toys. But look, it worked for that kid. Strange isn’t it?”

I nodded.

We left the food court, and walked around the mall. I had stuck Mom’s list in my pocket. Now I took it out and scanned it. She had thought of everything. For the rest of the afternoon, I took Peter from store to store. He tried on the jackets, pants, and shirts. I started to pick out a pack of underwear, but then wondered what kind of underwear he wanted. He was puzzled, at first, but I showed him the pictures on the packages, and asked him if he wanted to run around the house like Tarzan. He giggled, and then nodded. I asked him if he liked the underwear he was wearing. He shook his head, “no.” I picked out a pack of loose boxers, and another of boxer briefs. We’d see which he liked, more. At our last stop, we found shoes and sneakers to fit his small feet.

The first time we took his clothes to the cashier; Peter took my hand and whispered, “I don’t have any money to pay for this, daddy.”

“I know” I said. “I’m buying them for you. You don’t have any of your own clothes, and you need these.” Peter seemed both shocked and surprised, but he also smiled. When we finally finished, we carried bag after bag of clothes to the car, and began the trip home. I asked Peter why he seemed so surprised at the clothes.

“I never got so many new clothes before,” he said. “I always wore my older brothers’ clothes. Mama would make changes to the clothes so they fit me.”

I thought to myself, Oh, gosh … I hate to think what he had to wear! Maybe that’s one of the reasons why he didn’t have any friends. I was fortunate that Robbie wore out all his clothes. Aloud, I said, “Well kiddo, wear them well and take good care of them. Remember that the clothes make the man.”

Peter pouted. “But I’m still a boy. You mean I can’t wear clothes to play?” I laughed. “That was just an expression. It means you if look good in your clothes, then people will respect you; but, yes, you can play in them. Just try not to bet them too dirty. And remember, you can’t go to school dressed like Tarzan.”

Peter laughed, but he understood. “But … I love to run around like Tarzan.”

I responded, “Maybe so, but do you want all the girls to see you looking like that?” He giggled and shook his head, “no.”

After we got home, Peter took all his new clothes to his room and carefully put them all away. I urged him to put on a new set of clothes, and then threw his old clothes away. I wanted him to feel good about himself, but also I wanted him to start taking care of his things. Peter sat on the couch beside me, and hugged me for a long while. He didn’t have to say thank you. I knew in his heart he was very thankful about a lot of things.

When it started to get dark, I urged him into the kitchen, and asked him to help me make dinner. I figured it be a good time to start teaching him how to take care of himself. It was simple dinner, nothing too hard. I wanted for us to have time to talk more about him.

“Peter, tell me about your life in your old home.”

“I am the baby of the family, I go to public school. I am in the 4th grade.”

“Do you have any friends?”

“No, I don’t have any except for Leon.”

“Why don’t you have any friends besides Leon?”

“I don’t know. I am smallest in my class. Bigger kids pick on me. There isn’t anyone in class that’s just like me.”

I wonder why Peter said that. I don’t suppose that he knows he’s gay?? But I have to let him know its okay. That’s a bridge we’ll have to cross, soon.

“Peter, I want you tell me any time you’re unhappy. I want you to know that you’re safe here and that it’s okay to talk about it. If you feel unset, just remember to breathe. Stop talking, and breathe, and then talk more when you not upset.”

Peter put the last of the silverware on the table, and came over to where I was standing at the sink. He put his arms around my waist, and asked me to hold him. I shook the water from my hands, and did just that. I hugged Peter, trying to make him feel loved and safe. Peter let out a big sigh.

“I hated when the bigger kids would beat me up and I don’t know why.”

“Did you mean just the boys, right?”

“No. The girls, too.”

“Oh?” I hoped he’d take the hint. He did, but was reluctant to continue.

“I can’t. It’s hard to say it, Kenny”

“Did anyone touch you somewhere you did not want to be touched?”

“Yes.”

“Was it a boy or a girl or a man or a woman?”

“Girl,” he sighed.

“Who is she?”

“She’s the neighbor’s daughter—the one who walks me to the school crossing, and the one who looks after me after school until it’s time for me to go home.”

“Did you tell your parents about it?”

“I didn’t know how to tell. I was so upset every time Mom and Dad tried to send me to school with her. So they sent me to school by myself, and my brother Mike would be home to let me in. He did not like it. He hated doing it. He always teased me and got me in trouble and Dad would whack me a good one. I would be crying and be angry at him and Dad. But really there wasn’t anything I could do. Victor and Mom always wonder why I wasn’t eating. Mom had Dad take me to the doctor. The doctor couldn’t find anything wrong with me. So they always threatened me that if I didn’t eat they’d take me to the mean doctor to give me a hungry shot with a big long needle. It never worked. I always failed and they always gave up on me.”

I stroked Peter’s back, trying to calm him down. I gave him a hug of reassurance.

“Gosh, I never needed my brother’s help to get in trouble. I always did a good job of it on my own.”

Then, without thinking, I blurted out “Middle Child Syndrome.”

Peter looked at me with a “What?” expression on his face.

“Sorry,” I said. “That’s Middle Child Jealousy.”

“Is that on white bread?? I hope you’re not going to feed it to me, are you?” Peter asked.

I started laughing. It was really funny. I guess laughter was contagious because Peter started laughing too.

After we stopped laughing, our stomachs rumbled. It was time to eat. I encouraged Peter to start eating his meal before it gotten cold. Peter ate for a little while but he suddenly gave up. He was deeply upset. I looked up and noticed that he wasn’t consuming his meal. I wondered why for a second. I knew that I didn’t want him to ever have a reason to not eat. So, I decided to distract his worried thoughts with some small talk and asked him to take a bite as we talked. It worked for a little while but it was soon to be a struggle for the both of us. Peter finally did finish his meal. Peter cleared the table and I washed the dishes. During that time, I was puzzled.

We settled into the living room. I decided to ask the key question. “What did you do that made your father hit you?”

Peter cried and screamed “I don’t know! I don’t know!” There was more than anger in that voice. There was guilt, pain, anguish, and other, deeper feelings.

I had to stop then. Peter’s crying really got to me. I started crying, too. Peter looked at me. “Why are you crying? I’m the baby here!”

“Peter,” I said, “So am I … so am I.” I said this while hugging him and rubbing his back, hoping one of us would stop crying. Peter stopped, but only when he fell asleep. I carried him to my bed and tucked him under the covers. I figured that it would be best…in case he had a bad dream, or woke up and needed another hug.

Early the next morning, I called social services, and got Mrs. Darwin. “Mrs. Darwin, I’m very concerned about what has happen to Peter. We had a long talk yesterday. I found out that he was molested by the neighbor’s daughter, that his brother Mike hates him, and that he was hit by his father for various reasons. He was bullied in school, and he has only one friend. I don’t know what else to say, but this kid been has had a really tough life. We can’t send him back there. We just can’t. He’ll die if we do.”

I paused for a moment to let her get her point across to me. She sounded so reluctant. I re-iterated my commitment, “Mrs. Darwin, Peter is a great kid who needs a nurturing environment. I want to provide that for him. I know he has family, and I won’t ever let him stop loving them. I am pretty sure he loves his family—at least his mother—but this situation merits separation until Peter can start healing from the scars he has suffered.”

Mrs. Darwin said she’d keep this in mind. I wasn’t happy with that response, but that’s all I could get for now. Now, I had to get Peter up and ready for his first day at a new school.